


Achieving the Together-Coloured Instant

by satterthwaite



Category: The Tudors (TV), Wolf Hall (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Infuriating Romantic Tension, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-05 05:33:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11571384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satterthwaite/pseuds/satterthwaite
Summary: It would have been easier had it been another boy meets girl ; but Anne Boleyn is a hardworking, temperamental girl who wants nothing to do with the guy who hurt her sister, and Henry Tudor is a man determined in his pursuit."yours is the light by which my spirit’s born:yours is the darkness of my soul’s return–you are my sun,my moon,and all my stars"





	1. you should above all things be young and glad

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would not exist without my partner in crime Lydia (http://astrainfinitude.tumblr.com), and the sleepless nights I have spent roleplaying the interactions between Anne and Henry in this very specific AU. The Henry characterisation is her work entirely, and I'm grateful for her friendship and creativity. 
> 
> The title is from the E.E. Cummings' poem "sometimes i am alive because with". More tags will be added as the chapters are posted!

She swears to _fucking_ God, that if the man calling for her sister right under her window does not shut up in the following thirty seconds, she will probably grab the heaviest book on her shelf (the complete works of William Shakespeare is heavy enough to kill a man, she reckons) and throw it at his face.

Anne is in the middle of writing an essay about Italian painters from the Early Renaissance and she doesn’t need the sort of distraction the guy outside is providing. It’s nearing 2 am, she is powering through thanks to an unhealthy amount of tea (which has grown cold) mixed with random energising drinks upon which Mary would no doubt school her — her sister is going through her fourth year of medicine studies and is very concerned about her little sister’s studying habits, i.e staying up through the night to do her work and feeding her body with ‘disgusting chemicals’. Honestly, Anne cannot help it that she just functions much better at night and doesn’t need that much sleep to be efficient ; what she does need, however, is the nightly quietness, and it is being heavily disrupted at the moment.

"Mary! I know you’re there! Please answer me! Mary!"

Anne pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs, loudly, before getting up. She opens the window and put her head outside, glaring.

"My sister isn’t here so I suggest you shut up and go back to sleep because I am actually trying to work here!" 

"Wait!" She doesn’t know why, but he manages to stop her as she is closing the window and, sighing, she opens it again, waiting. "Yes?" 

"You say Mary isn’t there? Where is she?" 

Anne rolls her eyes. "Dude, I don’t know who you are, but my sister has been on holiday for a week now, in Greece. Now if you’ll excuse me, I actually have work to do… "

"Do you want me to help?" 

Anne frowns. "Sorry ?" 

"To make up for the fact I’ve been yelling at your window for a good thirty minutes… " 

"I doubt you know anything about the life and works of Verrocchio, but thank you for the offer. Goodnight." The curtness of her tone puts an end to the conversation, and so does the shutting of the window which immediately follows. She goes back behind her desk, 'So where was I now?', trying to gather up her ideas once more — the stream of her thoughts have been interrupted and she has a hard time getting back into the spirit of essay writing. God, why are boys in love such an annoying species? Her years at an all-girl boarding school in the French countryside hasn't prepared her to deal with that sort of foolish behaviours. Taking her head between her hands, she tries to focus on the painting sprawled in front of her.

But of course there's got to be some knocking at her door, and even as she rises from her chair to go and see who it is, she has no doubt who she might find behind the door.

"Verrocchio was Leonardo da Vinci's master, wasn't he?" The stranger is leaning against the doorframe, a smug smile on his face. 

"It doesn't take a genius to check a Wikipedia page," Anne retorts, lips pinched in annoyance. "For Christ's sake, it's almost 2 am, why aren't you going back to your bed?" 

"Well, now that I'm dressed, there is no point in going back to bed, so... do you want a companion into your enthralling trip into Renaissance Italy?"

"What did you do to my sister for her not to tell you she was going away?" Mary is probably the sweetest girl she knows, and it's unlike her to leave someone so out of the blue that he would come yelling at her window literally a whole week after she's gone. 

"Well, since she has stopped talking to me, I obviously have no idea what I might have done wrong to upset her. But you know, maybe if I get to sit surrounded by her things for hours, I might understand what particularly vexing thing I have done..." 

"You're the kind to sleep on my doormat until I let you in, aren't you? Because if Mary hasn't told you, I'm the less friendly sister, and I will totally let you sleep outside."

"Mary didn't even tell me she had a sister..." 

Now, Anne is vexed, on top of being upset at the disturbance, and tired at the lateness of the hour. She bites her lips : now it is becoming a matter of whether she will get back at her sister for 'omitting' to mention her existence to a guy who is most definitely her (ex-) boyfriend. He takes advantage of her silence to add : "Besides, I'm more the kind to climb up to your window, so..." 

"As much as I'd love to watch that, I don't want to be held responsible if you fall and break your neck." After one more minute of deadly silence, his smile and her visible irritation, she steps aside to let him in, and closing the door behind him. "So rule number one, you do not talk. Rule number two, you do not fucking talk. I have to maintain good grades, and the last thing I want is my sister's dumped boyfriend distracting me while I'm writing. Sit there and don't move," she says as she points towards Mary's bed, and goes back behind her own desk. 

"I was not joking when I said I could be a good companion into Italian Renaissance..." he begins after a mere thirty seconds of silence. She shots back a deadly glare, and he goes quiet at once — and surprisingly, for the rest of their time together in the room. He might have learned the lesson, after all. 

It is only when her alarm strikes 5 am that she stretches on her chair, yawning. "I'm going to get some sleep, and you should do the same," she says as she turns to face him, who hasn't moved except to pick up the very book she had had half a mind to throw at him (peeking, she sees he was deep in the reading of 'Much Ado about Nothing'). "And boys are not allowed in this dorm. So, out." She opens the door and shows him the way. 

"By the way, I'm Henry." Here it goes again, that smug smile, his hand extended towards her for her to shake. She forces a smile on her face, dark circles starting to show under her eyes. 

"Goodnight, Henry." She shoves him out of the room and closes the door behind him. 


	2. nobody loses all the time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You look good," he comments. She cringes.  
> "You mean, for someone who had very little sleep because someone decided to yell under their window? Thank you."  
> "I mean, for someone who has spent most of the night working."
> 
> In which there is an impromptu meeting, as in all good romantic novels...

**ANNE'S IPHONE**

**conversation with: Mary ♡**

 

 

 

> ⸨Next time you dump someone, can you please let them know?⸩  
>  ⸨I don't want them yelling under our window all night long.⸩
> 
> ⸨Oops.⸩
> 
> ⸨I hate that "oops" is all you have to say about this.⸩
> 
> ⸨For my defence, I thought he would just move on and date someone else.⸩  
>  ⸨I think he cheated on me anyway.⸩
> 
> ⸨Does that give me permission to effectively bash his skull in next time I see him?⸩
> 
> ⸨If that makes you feel better...⸩  
>  ⸨Be careful not to break any knuckles though.⸩  
>  ⸨They make for nasty fractures.⸩
> 
> ⸨Love you sis.⸩

* * *

She must have slept for about four hours, and the tea in her mug has been reheated ; meaning, it tastes absolutely disgusting and she wants to do everything except going to class. She thinks that she could have stayed in bed, warm and cozy, with a book or a movie and a cup of hot, decent tea ; because the weather is awful anyway. It's drizzling, a wet cover spread out over Cambridge and tainting the old, yellow bricks a dark, muddy brown. Even the grass seems darker, under the weight of the thin layer of water and the splush sounds of her steps as she crosses the campus, heading towards the History Science building. 

She's keeping her head down, trying to manage minimum damages to her make-up by keeping her face away from the pouring rain, holding her text books close to her chest. She's walking as fast as she can without running, which is an art she has mastered at her boarding school, where nuns scolded young ladies who were caught racing through the corridors. It became quite like the Olympic sport, between the girls : if it had the appearance of just walking fast, they couldn't tell you off. It burns her legs if she does it for too long, but the habit has stuck with her. 

So she is walking, fast, with her head down, under the rain, so the romantic novel would have her bump into someone — but no, she makes it to the building unscathed, and with all her books in her arms, though she is drenched and the tip of her hair, tied in a pony tail, is wet and uncomfortably grazing against the back of her neck. Putting her books down on a nearby bench, she pulls it up in a bun, wiping a finger under her eyes to remove the probable mascara stains. It is only when she turns towards her books that she sees him sitting next to them and she thinks, _'well, fuck me.'_  

Anne ignores him ; meaning, she picks up her things without another glance at him, and without saying a word. But obviously, he has decided otherwise. 

"You look good," he comments. She cringes.

"You mean, for someone who had very little sleep because someone decided to yell under their window? Thank you." 

"I mean, for someone who has spent most of the night working." She stares at him, unamused, remembering Mary's words from this morning — did he really cheat on her sister or did she make that up? She did have a tendency to exaggerate everything, and then she had forgotten to even mention she had a sister. Now she loves her, but Mary can be pretty infuriating at times. 

"Did you call her? My sister, I mean." 

"Yes, then she managed to hang up on me, though I don't know if it was her or someone _close_ to her." Oh, does it feel uncomfortable being on the receiving end? Anne just shrugs.

"She didn't leave with anyone, if that reassures you..." Not that he should care, since it seems pretty plain that they're not together anymore ; though she knows Mary can cling to someone for the longest time, even when the case is a desperate one, it seems she has taken pretty radical measures with this one, and reconciliation sounds like an impossible thought. 

"Well, then it would seem she has no desire to speak to me at all." He shoves his hand in his pockets, shrugs — nothing he can do about it, apparently. 

"What did you do to her? You do know my sister is the kindest human alive..." She raises her eyebrow, interrogating. 

"I do. And I'm aware that whatever I've done, it must be monstrous..." From his tone, she has two options: either Mary has made a fuss out of something completely innocent (and it wouldn't be the first time, she knows her sibling, she is Queen of Misunderstandings and is quick to give her own meaning to even the slightest events) ; or he doesn't consider cheating as something bad. The two tell a very different story, and she can't decide yet who she can believe. 

"Well, cheer up and give her up, I suppose. She told me you easily found girlfriends anyway..." She's dropping hints, trying to see where the balance of truth might lean. 

"Yes, well, that is the assumption. I'm really a lot less spectacular at it than expected." He looks uneasy, even shy if she were to stretch that far. She frowns : that's not the same personality as last night. Perhaps Mary did exaggerate, after all...

"Well, good luck then I suppose? It was... nice meeting you. Don't ever come again screaming under my window. I've got to go to class now." 

From the other end of the porch where their discussion has taken place, a group of boys is walking towards them. From the looks of them, they must be two or three years older than Anne, and around the same age as her interlocutor ; friends, no doubt. It gets confirmed within minutes. 

"Are you out on the hunt again, Tudor?" one of them laughs, and she grimaces, clutching her books tighter against her. "The man has just been set free and he can't resist the call of the pussy." 

"That's charming," Anne says, voice ice cold, and she starts walking away from them. 

"Can't you just shut up for once, Brandon?" Henry speaks between clenched teeth, before going after her. "Wait! Lunch after class? Then I'll leave you in peace, I promise." She stops, thinks for a second — does she really want to spend any more time in the company of what seems like a fuckboy? But then she has learnt that saying no might delay the moment where he would actually leave her alone, so she decides to say yes and get rid of him quickly. 

"Alright then. Bye." She hasn't put much more warmth in her tone, and she quickly spins around, turning into a corridor, out of sight. Between her teeth she whispers "Eton mess..." and shakes her head. 

* * *

 

 

>   **ANNE'S IPHONE**
> 
> **conversation with: Mary ♡**
> 
> ⸨I think I just met his friends. Charming.⸩
> 
> ⸨What? You saw him again?⸩
> 
> ⸨Believe it or not, we study at the same university...⸩  
>  ⸨Yes, I saw him again, but clearly not on my own will.⸩
> 
> ⸨What did he say to you?⸩
> 
> ⸨That he didn't know what he had done to you.⸩
> 
> ⸨Liar.⸩
> 
> ⸨I don't doubt that.⸩  
>  ⸨But are you sure you didn't exaggerate things?⸩
> 
> ⸨Are you doubting your own sister?!⸩
> 
> ⸨You didn't even tell him you had a sister!⸩  
>  ⸨And besides, remember that time you thought we were going on holidays without you?⸩  
>  ⸨And you made a scene at the restaurant?⸩  
>  ⸨And we were forced to tell you your birthday present which was supposed to be a surprise?⸩
> 
> ⸨... yeah.⸩
> 
> ⸨That's what you do, Mary.⸩  
>  ⸨You make things up and then believe they're true.⸩  
>  ⸨I still love you though.⸩  
>  ⸨And he sounds like a fuckboy from the looks of his friends.⸩
> 
> ⸨I know right?⸩
> 
>  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From the time being I'm only writing from Anne's POV but I'll attempt to add more of Henry's in the next chapter! Also the texting is totally not inspired by @boleynqueens modern Tudors...


	3. yes is a pleasant country

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's coughing now, her eyes almost bulging out of her skull. "Jesus Christ, Mary fucks the son of the richest man in the country and she doesn't even tell me, the bitch."

Cambridge is huge  —  which is obvious, given it's one of the most prestigious universities in the United Kingdom and that thousands of students, in every field, go there. No, what she means when Anne reflects on the grandeur of the college she attends is, it's so big one could easily get lost. O mistakes one place for another. After all, there are probably tens of dining halls around campus, and he just said 'lunch', and not really where said lunch would take place. If she were lucky, they would miss each other ; she would eat alone, in peace, and never cross the face of 'Henry' ever again. 

Honestly, she should have guessed, after being unwillingly serenaded, that luck wasn't on her side. 

Standing up in the queue, tray between her hands, waiting to pay for an outrageously overpriced sandwich and can of sparkling apple juice, she is startled as she feels a hand resting on her shoulder. The little jump makes her plate rattle against the tin of the can, and she turns around, frowning, expecting a friend  —  instead it's him again, for the third time in the space of twenty-four hours. Still that same smile on his face, still that same self-assurance ; Anne hasn't changed either : still the same annoyance, still the pinched lips. 

"I'm seeing you more than my best friend," she remarks as she makes the tray slide on the rail, smiling as she hands the cashier her ten-pound bill. "Keep the change," she adds, and walks away. 

"I see you're generous," he says as he follows her, sitting across from her at the table she chooses. 

"It was literally a matter of 10 pence. The prices here are absolutely ridiculous, but I guess I'm a child who can't manage her own meals once my sister is away..." There's half a smile, and it's for him. She hopes he'll be satisfied, because she can't promise him to give much more than that. 

"So, how was Italian Renaissance?" he asks as he crosses his arms over his chest, watching her take the first bite of her sandwich. 

"Hm?" She chews and swallows. "Oh, that's actually for next week. I just do my homework in advance. That class was 19th-century art history, actually... Why are you interested?"

"I actually hate bus." 

"Sorry?" 

"I said, I actually hate MBus. Master in Business?" 

"Oh, right. I thought you said you hated the bus..." Now she laughs, and shakes her head. "Not that it would have surprised me, but I was just wondering why such confession was suddenly being brought into this conversation." She takes another bite, in silence, and he watches her, in silence.

"So you think having a conversation with the sister of the girl you fucked, literally, is going to change that loathing thing?" If she smiles, it's only to underline the oddness of the situation  —  she still had no idea why he was so keen on having this tête-à-tête. 

"I am trying to make amends with Mary. She's far better than I deserved any way. I'm certain she'll find someone she cares for far more. I was just  —  trying to be friendly." She raises an eyebrow : apologetic? He does look the part. 

"You can't make amends with her through me. I'm not a messaging pigeon or something." Ah, but she's still the mean sister, he'll find out. 

"I'm not seeking amends through you. I mean, if she would just listen to me..." She cuts him short by raising her hand in the air. 

"Here's my advice : give her time. Like I said, I don't know what you did, but she was pretty upset the last time I saw her... Aren't you going to eat?" She's getting rather uncomfortable, being watched eating by someone who doesn't eat. He just shrugs and smiles. 

"No, I'm going to work a bit, if you don't mind..." She has nothing to object to that : if he wants to be a good student, she is not going to complain. So they sit in silence, Anne chewing and Henry, reading. This is the oddest lunch she has ever been to, and that includes family meetings with thrice-removed cousins from God knows where, who only seem to show up because her side of the family is the wealthy, high-placed one. 

No, this is definitely much weirder : she doesn't even know his surname, and he slept with her sister. 

"I am Anne, by the way." She breaks the silence as she folds the plastic wrap of her sandwich into a ball. 

"Thank God, I thought you'd never say it, and that I would have to forever refer to you as 'the Other Boleyn Girl'" he chuckles. "And I'm Henry Tudor. Nice meeting you." As he extends his hand towards her, she almost chokes on her drink.

"Tudor? As in Tudor, Tudor?" 

"That's what I just said, yes." 

She's coughing now, her eyes almost bulging out of her skull. "Jesus Christ, Mary fucks the son of the richest man in the country and she doesn't even tell me, the bitch." At that she hears him laugh.

"I think that Richard Branson bloke has made more money than my father lately..." She wants to slap that smug smile off his face because obviously, he now has the upper hand over her, because she is somehow in shock. Not that she should be surprised to encounter such 'high-calibre' personas within these very walls, but still  —  they do not belong to the same circles. She is upper middle class, he is the top of the food ladder. She's the little fish in the big pond, and he makes the pond looks small. 

"So, erm..." Anne is racking her brain to try and find some conversation subjects that would not revolve around the obscene amount of money his family owns. "Are you any good at this business thing? Not that you would need to be, I suppose..." That's a fail, Boleyn : subtle mention of his wealth is still a mention of his wealth. 

"Would that be boasting if I said I'm actually good at the things I apply myself to?" Yes it would, she wants to say ; she just smiles. "I apply myself rarely enough."

"Did you 'apply yourself' to my sister?" They've gone full circle already and back to her sister. Her smile is showing her teeth and she is cutting. 

"Touché," he chuckles. "I believe I applied myself poorly. As I already said, I freely admit that she deserves way better than what I gave her." 

"Let's just say you weren't made for each other, then," she shrugs, and leans back on her chair, arms crossed. Each boxer in their own corner ; there's been enough beating up, and Boleyn is definitely a winner. She doubts Tudor ever began to fight, though, so she's not throwing too much praise at herself. 

"So, what do you believe then?" He's back again, and she's a bit thrown off-guard. "You've met me now, you know me — am I better or worse than I've been rumoured?" 

"I hardly know you," she points out, rolling her eyes. "I don't think annoying someone into having lunch with you qualifies as 'knowing someone', so I can't judge yet, and I'm not sure I even want to. But given you don't sound as horrible as I thought you might, considering the face Mary was making when she left... I'd say better." 

"You are certainly capable of judgement, and seem most willing to pass it." Oh, is he throwing a punch at her now? She was expecting him to fight back sooner or later ; her lips are pinched into a thin line, her arms crossed more tightly around her. "So I'm pleased to garner an almost good review." 

"Almost is the key word," she glares, and starts gathering her thing. 

"Do you have any more classes? Because I don't." She has half a mind to tell him that yes, she does, even though she doesn't. She stops for a second, thinking. 

"No, I'm completely free," she finally replies. "So we could sit here and stare at each other for a whole afternoon. What joy." 

"Now, I know I'm enjoyable to look at, but I doubt it would keep an art student satisfied for very long... No, actually, there's a museum opening this afternoon, if you'd like to go." 

"As if an art student could say no to a museum... Smooth move, Tudor." 

"Smooth? I must be doing well. Two nearly compliments in one brief time!" 

"Don't get used to them, I'm running short as we speak." 

"I can feel them dwindling." Now he looks amused, but when doesn't he? 

"Well, I'm following you then. Where are you taking me?" 

"The opening of the Red Rose." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, we're getting some Henry POV in the next chapter! A big shoutout to @boleynqueens once more, for being the sweetest and showering me with compliments that I only half-deserve since all the Henry parts were actually written by my friend Lydia, who everyone should shower in compliments over her Henry portrayal over there > http://astrainfinitude.tumblr.com 
> 
> Thank you for everyone's nice words, and hopefully I can keep the good work coming!


	4. i'll give you my best side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well well well, would you believe that? Men lying about their penises because they feel insecure? This is brand new informations, I've never heard such things..." she snorts, rolling her eyes. "You know the joke, right? If women can't park right, it's because they've been lied to all their life about what 6 inches look like..." she chuckles.

Maybe it's the way she leaned over that window and told him to shut up. 

Maybe it's the way he has noticed that her dark hair have some auburn shades when the light goes through (he has only seen it with the artificial lighting of her desk lamp, cutting a halo crown around her head that night she was working on her essay, but he supposes it would look the same in the sun, if there was any at the moment over England). Maybe it's because he sat for three hours in her company without even exchanging a word, just observing her ; which, frankly, would be downright creepy if she hadn't ordered him to keep quiet. Otherwise, he imagines he would have happily conversed with her, but then again, it was the middle of the night, in her room, and they were still strangers to one another. Not exactly the sort of things one does on a daily basis. 

Maybe it's because she's shown an utter lack of interest in him. Which doesn't happen, like ever. 

Usually, girls are too eager to hook up with him once they know his name. To her credits, she didn't know his name then, but even when he told her, she didn't suddenly tone down and start batting her eyelashes at him. If anything, she sounded even more reluctant to make his acquaintance. Perhaps the magic of his name can't do everything, after all. 

Maybe it's because she doesn't sound like anyone he's ever met. 

 _'Maybe it's Maybelline'_ Brandon would mock if he could hear his thoughts, but luckily for him, their friendship, as deep as it may be, doesn't go as far as telepathy. Henry might have punched him for being so obviously annoying, just like he had done when he had encountered Anne before her class and Charles had managed to bring out his most tactless act in the space of thirty seconds, watch in hand. Anne had disappeared inside one of the buildings, and Henry had smacked the back of his best friend's head. 

"You just couldn't resist, could you?" he had groaned. 

"What? Don't tell me you want to tap the younger sister _right_ after the eldest? Because that would be fucked up mate." 

If Charles Brandon says it, it means it really must be something terrible, because there is not much which would stop Charles Brandon from getting a pretty girl in his bed. And Anne definitely fits into that category, even though she doesn't look like her sister  -—  and Mary Boleyn is a picture straight out from a magazine. She's probably a head taller than her sister, with blonde hair falling in waves down to her waist when she lets it down, and eyes a light shade of blue. She's the definition of a doe-eyed beauty, with her soft features and soft smile and that sort of kindness which sometimes naturally emerges from people without them doing anything. 

Anne, it seems, was cut more roughly than her sister: her eyes are bigger, and darker ; the angle of her jaw is sharper, her lips bigger and less defined than Mary's. Her hair is a rich shade of brown, with the auburn shades he caught in the light, and falls shorter and straighter. Whereas freckles only show on Mary's nose, they appear more present on Anne's face, and darker like her hair. When he had noticed them, in the grey lights of the grey sky and under the porch, he couldn't help but wonder whether there were others to be found on her body. Somehow he had a feeling she wouldn't be pleased to know he had had such thoughts. 

Nevertheless, her freckles and the abundance of them are at the centre of his reflections as he waits for her in the dining hall, and perhaps if he had access to her thoughts in that moment, he would find them strangely similar, with perhaps the exception that his anxiety regarding whether they would find themselves at the same place for lunch is derived from his want of seeing her, rather from want of avoiding him like Anne is thinking. 

His class has finished earlier, and he has gotten rid of Charles and everyone of his friends who could end up being an embarrassment for him in front of her  -—  which meant everyone of them. Now, Henry obviously has a great fondness for his friends, and especially Brandon with whom he has spent all of his Eton years : him the son of the richest of the country (so of course he had always been destined to private school of the greatest standard), and Charles the child of middle-class parents from Manchester who had saved up for him to be able to attend the most prestigious boy school of England, despite him absolutely not wishing to. Nothing could have separated them more, yet strangely they had ended up befriending each other, and now they are stuck together, for better or worse  -—  which sometimes turns out to be the worst, especially on occasions like this morning. 

And just as he is reflecting on what kind of punching he will give his best friend for acting like a complete moron, he spots her in the queue. Now, this is a girl who has clearly expressed her annoyance at him, and implied more or less subtly that she does not really wish to see him. But there is something that compels him, a sort of stronger force which he finds must be at least as strong as her reluctance. He can decide to leave her alone and forever wonder if he is going to see her again ; but the decision to get up and go to her is made in a split second, and the moment after, he has his hand on her shoulder, smiling. 

* * *

 Don't get him wrong : he is not the sort of creep who enjoys watching people eating without eating themselves ; he just finds himself to be without an appetite, which is rare but not undocumented. What he can hardly believe though, is that she had not guessed his name before. After all, it's not like his picture has been in important magazines before, but perhaps she simply isn't the type to read the Financial Times. He can't help but laugh at the reaction, because any girl would have probably turned all sweet at once, cooing and bringing out their weapons ; but she doesn't. She keeps up the metaphorical poking at his side over the treatment of her sister, he starts fighting back. 

He does find her very judgmental, for someone who suddenly says they are not in a position to emit judgement. In fact, he realises she has been judging him from the very first moment she saw him ; but now this is the behaviour he is used to, though it generally happens after people know who he is. Perhaps for girls like her, he has Eton boy written on his forehead. It is also highly possible that, given that she has only heard of him through Mary, she has not given the best of portraits. Fair enough. 

His next move is his hope of redeeming himself in her eyes, and with her acceptance (and the two half-compliments she gives him, small victories he will savour for a long time), he thinks his odds might be rating higher than a few moments before. Maybe he wins this round, after all. 

The Fitzwilliam Museum is attached to the university of Cambridge, and given every member of his family has gone through either one of the many colleges ever since the name Tudor has reached English soils, they have also largely financially contributed to it. The exhibition he is taking Anne to is actually entirely made of their own private collections, stored in attics for the longest time ; his father decided that it would be wiser to offer them to the public eye, and though he disagrees with most of the decisions taken by Henry Sr., he must admit this is one he can get behind. 

And if he can woo a beautiful girl with it, he will actually be indebted to his father. 

As they walk towards the building, he slows his pace to keep abreast of her. One thing more which differentiates the sisters: Mary is a faster walker, perhaps thanks to the few-inches advantage she has on Anne. The eldest could easily keep up with his long legs, but this one finds it more difficult. After all, when she stands next to him, her head barely reaches his shoulder. A quote comes into mind: _"Though she be but little, she is fierce."_ It may be that Shakespeare was familiar with petite women with a fighting temper. 

"It's closed," Anne remarks as they enter the museum and walk towards the counter of the exhibition. "It says it only opens next week." 

"Well, my family is allowed an early access, given that we're loaning most of the art..." Now he is expecting another pricking remark, but she just laughs. 

"So I'm allowed in the secret circle of the Tudor family? You've barely met me..." 

"Well, it's art. You're good with it. Art is meant to be enjoyed, even among adversity. Or modernity, whichever damns it first." He can see on her face that she is surprised by such a statement coming out of his month. Now, he may be a privileged, Eton prick and whatever else Mary might have told her, it doesn't mean he doesn't possess the ability to recognise the important things in life. 

"Well, I'm flattered you think I'm good with art, even though you have never seen my marks..." Has he humbled her? He doubts it; he keeps bracing himself for any subtle insult she might throw at him at any moment. And then, his compliment is meant in all genuineness. 

"I don't need to see your marks, I saw you working the other night." 

At the counter, he gives his name to the girl working there, who bows her head and smiles. "Of course, mister Tudor. You and your family are always welcome, you are the principal contributors to the well-being of this museum..." and she steps aside to open a massive wooden door. Once she is out of earshot, Anne lets out an amused chuckled. 

"So you're philanthropists? Classic. Though I enjoy the thought of less pocked money in the name of art..." 

"Hey, it's our art after all. We don't have to share it..." 

"Well, I read somewhere that rich people don't buy art for themselves, but rather for future generations... So show me around, mister guide. Make me jealous of your wealth!" 

He doubts she's the kind to be envious of money, nor even interested in it. He knows Mary wasn't, that she has dated him purely for his good looks and good humour, though obviously he wasn't up to the task, in the end. He trusts her little sister to be cut out of the same cloth, and she has proved it already. 

Their first stop is an ancient tapestry, protected by a glass and dimly lit in order to protect its colours. Anne bends forward to read the small plaque hanging next to the display. 

"It says it's King Solomon and the Queen of Sheba," she points towards the two central figures. "It is believed they had an illicit affair..." she wiggles her eyebrows in an ironic way. He smiles at her good-humoured jest. 

"I've always had the theory that they might be. She was a beautiful woman..." he notes, though of course, through the faded weaver of the threads, her mythological prettiness is not her most striking feature. 

"Of course, there are many possible interpretations of their meeting. But she was a wealthy woman and she brought him gifts, so I guess that's the way to a man's heart..." 

"Now you're unfair on poor Solomon," he points out. "After all, he was rich himself, and he was said to be the most wise of kings. If I had to be given a gift, that's the one I would choose, rather than the money." 

"The wisdom?" she arches an eyebrow. "That's a reasonable gift to wish for, I suppose... But then, you already have the wealth so there isn't much else to get," she teases and moves on to the next set of tapestries, who apparently came as a pair. Henry remembers a time where those were hanging in the dining hall of their countryside mansion and where, as a child, he had wondered why carpets were on the walls and not on the floor. When the place had been completely refurbished, they had been part of the many things stored away, awaiting their time. 

"Here, it says it was given by the king to his favourite as a New Year's gift..." Anne reads from the plaque, and chuckles. "I don't know how I would take it if my boyfriend gave me curtains for Christmas." The time of these tapestries has come indeed, but only to be harshly judged. 

He listens to her: there are times where she is rather judgmental, from her lofty point of infallibility. But he remains silent on it, laughing as she critiques the gift.

"Well then I'll remember to never gift you drapes worth twenty times what you would earn in a year." 

At that she gives him a quick glance, glaring, as he flippantly moves on towards a portrait. "Who says I'd accept any gift from you? I said 'boyfriend'..." she points out as she follows his lead. 

"Am I not a boy and a tentative friend?" he smiles innocently. 

"Don't try to play with words, Tudor," she shuts him up sternly. He decides retreat might be the best option, at least from now; he changes the subject. 

"Anyway, this portrait... It's said that a great deal of artistic liberty was taken; and if this is the improved version I'd be loathed to see the real thing." She merely shrugs at the comment, apparently still very much unamused by the remark he gave her. 

"She doesn't look half as bad to me. But I suppose men have other standards." It feels like a sparring match between the two of them, or rather, for his tennis player self, like a long rally where neither of the players want to give up. 

"But her nose... I'm not one to speak of subtle nasal structure as I utterly lack it... But a raven would be at home with such a prominent feature." When she sharply turns her head towards him, he knows he might have committed yet another _faux-pas._

"I've been told I had a prominent nose once, so thank you..." she rolls her eyes. "Honestly you don't know how to speak to women... perhaps you should keep quiet?" she suggests, before moving on to another painting. "Great, a life-size portrait of a king. And it says he had it slightly bigger than his real height! What a massive ego."

There's a scoff  -—  he genuinely is not as gifted with women as his reputation might belief. But then again women can be generous with his charms since after all, he has a great deal of _future_ promise. In truth he's dallied, but none has ever captured his mind and intellect, much less his heart  -—  at least until a certain woman who isn't remotely interested in him. Coming up silently behind her there is a soft laugh.

"I've heard oversized codpieces were a sign of lacking in the male vigour department. Though it could be a cruel rumour begun by his ex wives..."

"Well well well, would you believe that? Men lying about their penises because they feel insecure? This is brand new informations, I've never heard such things..." she snorts, rolling her eyes. "You know the joke, right? If women can't park right, it's because they've been lied to all their life about what 6 inches look like..." she chuckles.

"Never lie unless it's at least a foot. Honestly men seem entirely unaware that a tree branch is unsatisfactory for both parties, and that knowledge far surpasses size. Though I'm certain I've crossed some barrier and I've now offended you." He still stands just behind her, his arms crossed.

The involuntary slip of her jumper has revealed a patch of shoulder flesh, and he now has his answer. His eyes are not on the painting, but instead on the faint line of freckles on pale skin  -—  so she does have them everywhere. Without knowing him, he finds a certain satisfaction in holding such an information. 

"If you say so..." she shrugs. She quickly turns away, and he can swear he has seen her blushing. Should he push forward and find out why she suddenly feel embarrassed? Such an action might be taking too much chance, and too much risk. She speaks again before he can say anything. 

"I'm not going to get offended over pretty common male lies, don't worry. Shall we proceed?" 

He is more than happy to comply to her demand, and as he slips to her side, he daringly drapes his arm around her shoulder. "I'm merely saying if men were educated perhaps they'd lie less. Confidence does wonders for a man's appeal I've heard." 

But he feels her freezing in her tracks, and quickly she takes his wrist and untangles herself from his embrace. "Excuse me, what are you doing?" She stares at him, a storm brewing in her dark eyes. "That might be too much confidence," she forces a smile on her face, grimacing. 

Deftly his hand twists in her grasp, slipping so his hand grasp hers in an oddly intimate moment. Yet it's light, easily enough pulled away from... but the meaning of the gesture there none the less. When he speaks again, it's as if it never happened, and he points towards a rather unusual object. 

"Yes  -—  my ancestors possessed a gold lid for his loo. Literally enough money to waste on that."

She has stepped away from him, her arms crossed over her chest, suspicious of his every move. "Honestly I don't even want to know how rich you are. It's probably _disgustingly_ rich." He notes that she doesn't comment on the last gesture; a good point for him, or simply a truce? 

"I was merely illustrating the idiocy of the wealthy. I'd far rather be outdoors than having golden loo lids..." 

"Well, that's good to know for your future wife, or whoever is going to live with you..." she comments and takes the lead, walking a few steps ahead of him and going to another vitrine. "I quite like the cutlery. I love the crystal and nacre handles on these..."

"My mother's kept a set even finer than that  -—  I'm not sure why she wants it. But it's in her hutch. The gold-work on the goblets is almost obscene in it's beauty and uselessness." 

"I bet you wouldn't even dare using those... Really, they're just perfect for display." He can feel that she is impressed now. 

"She swears it's for my wedding day, but it wasn't meant for mine. It was for my brother Arthur. Fiance and all." If she didn't know who he was, he doesn't expect her to know about his brother. They have reached the jewellery section now, where necklaces and bracelets more massive than the others are on display. "The tiaras aren't our here yet. They're being reinsured. But if you come back in a few days when it opens, they'll be out," he comments, hoping for a quick change of subject from his older brother. 

"Oh well, perhaps I might come back then, though I do not have a massive interest in tiaras..." she says, though he can hear in the tone of her voice that she has something else in mind, so he braces himself for the question which is sure to follow. "What happened to him?" Here it goes  -—  he closes his eyes, his lips pinched into a thin line. 

"My family loans them to the queen when she needs one. I've not a massive interest  -—  but they're rather magnificent." He avoids the question --- Arthur had been meant for all Henry had now. He is living a life meant for a dead man... And that is something his dreams never lets him forget. Now, he hopes she won't press him for the answer he hasn't given. She does have a terrible temper, but he doesn't believe her to be tactless. 

"Well, thanks for the tips then," she simply says, and when he looks at her, he silently thanks her for not expanding on the subject. "I would love to stay more in your company but actually, I've got my rowing practice." He frowns; from the looks of her, he would have never guessed her to be the athletic kind. 

"Rowing? Isn't it for big, tall women?" 

She sighs, shaking her head. "Really, you should stop talking to girls. You're hopeless at it," she lightly slap his shoulder, smiling  -—  at least, he amuses her, he thinks, and that has to count for something. "I really have to go, and since you promised you would leave me in peace after today... Maybe I'll see you around? In any case, goodbye." 

Surprisingly, she leans forward, and her hand resting on his shoulder is used to balance her as she gets on her tip-toes. "Mary is coming back next week. You should try and see her to apologise," she speaks close to his ear, before quickly withdrawing, and taking off just like she did this morning, disappearing into a corridor and leaving him wanting for more. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here comes the long-awaited Henry POV! This is a much longer chapter, to make up for the three first short ones. 
> 
> So, a few precisions: 
> 
> • the physical references for Mary and Anne are [Vanessa Kirby](https://static.independent.co.uk/s3fs-public/thumbnails/image/2013/03/27/22/5539817.jpg) and [Claire Foy](https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/ad/15/e0/ad15e0a4d86aa9d4a830fe6f9ad32c8e.jpg) with the exception that I changed Claire's eyes colour to make them darker, as the real Anne's were. Now I know Vanessa is actually younger than Claire, but for the sake of this fic, let's pretend she's not! 
> 
> • the pieces in the museums are references to some real-life objects which belonged to Henry and Anne (with the exception of the golden loo lid, thanks Lydia...) The King Solomon and Queen of Sheba tapestry is based on a [miniature](https://d9y2r2msyxru0.cloudfront.net/sites/default/files/styles/collection_object_bootstrap_carousel_/public/collection-online/8/1/298465-1341220082.jpg?itok=6Lyc-gbf) by Hans Holbein the Younger, where Henry is depicted as Solomon, and it is also featured in "Wolf Hall". The pair of hangings were a gift from Henry to Anne ; as for the cutlery, this one is a reference to the novel "Wolf Hall" by Hilary Mantel, where Cromwell gifts these to Anne. 
> 
> • since Henry and Anne were both keen on fashionable sports of the 16th century, I decided they would also be athletic in this modern AU! Henry is a tennis player (since Henry VIII was already one back in his days, though it was slightly different than it is today) while Anne is a rower. I decided on a rowing simply because it will serve the plot later, and because it is such a popular sport at Cambridge! 
> 
> • also don't worry, we'll find out in due time what it is Henry did to Mary to make her so upset! 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, as it wasn't the easiest one for me to write (I cannot thank Lydia and Haley enough for their advices!) and hopefully the next one will be as long! And for those of you who are interested, you can find me on my personal [bolleyna](http://clairefoy.co.vu) on tumblr !


	5. we're on each other's team

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Judging from your tan, I'm going to assume you had a great time," Anne smiles as they walk together towards the train station. Mary wears denim shorts which showcase her long and sun-kissed legs, but which are definitely not the appropriate outfit for the British March weather. 
> 
> "Of course I had! Any occasion to get away from this awful, constant drizzle is pure joy. And taking a vacation is much more efficient than a haircut to get over some dickhead, note it down."

"If you keep getting any prettier, I might have to murder you in your sleep." 

Mary laughs it off and hugs her little sister, who came to meet her at the airport so she wouldn't have to make the train journey back to Cambridge on her own, since neither of them own a driving licence (Mary keeps swearing every summer that this time, she will get it, but she never actually works for it. In London, everyone gets by public transports, and in Cambridge, they go everywhere by foot or on their bike. There was never a need for a car, especially not when you attended a boarding school in your teen years, and not when you had parents driving you everywhere) The Greek sun has tanned Mary's face, enhancing the light blonde of her hair and the blue of her eyes, rendering her looks more striking still. It's not the first time Anne has been wondering how she can ever hope to compare to her older sister. 

At boarding school already, Anne was her shadow: girls befriended Mary, and Anne only by default, because the dark haired one didn't leave her side. Most of her friends were her sister's in the first place, and it wasn't until Mary went back to England, leaving Anne alone behind, that the youngest eventually blossomed into her own personality. Her return to London to attend sixth form college in order to get into Cambridge only served to shape her mind further from that of her sister. She developed a tougher character, harsher because of the comparisons she had sometimes suffered from: she was less pretty, she was less sociable, she was less bright. It showed still, somehow, sometimes, when some remote members of their family brought back on the table the fact that Mary had gone into medicine and Anne, into art history, a less promising field than her sister's. 

Yet the bond between the Boleyn siblings could not be stronger, perhaps even more so in the face of the adversity wishing it could pit them against one another. Their brother George would no doubt join them at Cambridge in a year (both of them have already warned him he would be promptly written off the will if he decided to go to Oxford instead, the Boleyns have standards after all) and the family would eventually be complete. 

* * *

Mary Boleyn could tell a different story.

Not that she was not loved whatsoever - their family was a loving one, had always been, even when being sent to a boarding school in the French countryside felt like a punishment. Their parents loved all their children equally but somehow, she had always felt some sort of special connection between Anne and their father and mother.

It seemed that whatever Anne may do, it fell into 'perfection', and whatever she may do fell into 'improvable'. Even George had confessed he had the same odd feeling about their sibling ; like they had placed much bigger hopes into their second child than they had in their eldest or youngest.

Of course, going into medicine was Mary's pride, and her parents' - but somehow her achievements never seemed as great as Anne's. For three years, when her sister was still in high school and she had joined the Cambridge ranks, their achievements had become incomparable: Mary was studying harder and much more difficult subjects than Anne, and thus it was easier for her to get the recognition she thought she deserved. But now that Anne had joined her, and even got into a more prestigious college than her (Trinity had always topped the ranking of the Cambridge Colleges, and she was 'only' going to King's), it seemed like this cycle would go on once more.

Never did she blame her sister for her feelings however; on the contrary, they now shared a love and a bond which, she now happily admitted, had not always been easy. Anne was keen on reminding her of that one time Mary had pushed her and she had cut open her forehead on a nightstand, and her sister had told their parents she had fallen on her own... They were now laughable anecdotes, though their fights had once sparked concern in their parents. 

"Judging from your tan, I'm going to assume you had a great time," Anne smiles as they walk together towards the train station. Mary wears denim shorts which showcase her long and sun-kissed legs, but which are definitely not the appropriate outfit for the British March weather. 

"Of course I had! Any occasion to get away from this awful, constant drizzle is pure joy. And taking a vacation is much more efficient than a haircut to get over some dickhead, note it down." 

Not that she had imagined Henry Tudor was going to be the love of her life, but it had gone on for enough time that she had assumed that perhaps there might have been something there, something other than the previous guys she had dated who had only seemed to fantasize about the French girl who had gone to boarding school with nuns — because apparently, that was still a thing. She had been proven wrong, of course, and not in a very nice way. 

* * *

 Anne is confused. But of course she doesn't let it show on her face. 

Of course they're talking about the guy who dumped her sister, so he automatically goes into the 'dickhead' category, no question asked.

At least, that's how it would have been last week, before she even knew who her sister's boyfriend was. Now, there were other things to consider, things who came into play that she never thought would.

Because first of all, Mary had not even mentioned to him that she had a sister, and Anne did not really deal so well with erasure. Oh well, that part she could let go of; maybe he simply never asked... Onto the next argument.

She felt like she actually knew the guy now; heck, it could be said that they had even gone on a date, if people reached that far. And knowing him made it, somehow, more difficult to hate him like she ought to - because he had forced her sister to actually take a break in a foreign country, for God's sake.  
More difficult to hate, simply because she had not found anything to hate in him. So far, he had been polite, nice even, though perhaps verging slighty on harassment - and even then, she had accepted his invitation, and had come not to regret it. She found she had enjoyed his company, in the small time they had spent together. Even when she still didn't know what to think of all those things she had seen at the museum.

To think about the fact it all belonged to his family... Anne was not often jealous, but she found she was, actually; at least for the whole cultural part of it. She was jealous that one family could own so many treasures, at arm's length, while she could only dream of ever being able to study such wonders. She was jealous of the history, not so much of the wealth. 

The most surprising part, surely, was that she had enjoyed the company, even when she had been bound on hating every second of it - after all, she had only said yes in order for him to leave her alone, since he had seemed set on keep on his pursuit until she gave in. Now, more than merely feigning enjoyment, she had felt something more at being with him, their exchanges and how effortlessly he replied to her sarcasm. How he threw back every mean things she said, and how he had not back away from her bad temper.

Now of course, those feelings are conflicting, because he still dumped her sister, which still makes him a technical dick in her book. Yet she can not really bring herself to give him the hatred he deserves for having hurt Mary — perhaps because he looked genuinely remorseful any time she brought it up (which had been at every occasion)? Maybe if he apologised, Mary would forgive him, too. She, of course, had no idea whether he would do it, like she had suggested he should when they had parted.

"You didn't tell me what went down between you two, by the way," Anne says as she helps her sister putting her luggage in the over-head rack in the train, which is blissfully empty. Mary shrugs, Anne frowns ('No, you won't get away with that' her eyes speak).

"Let's just say I met his family and it was the most humiliating experience of my life," Mary sighs as she takes her phone from her backpack. "I'm so happy to finally be able to use my data once more!" 

"Wait, you met his family? How serious were you?" Anne certainly had not imagined that the relationship had gone to the whole 'family meeting' point, nor that it was what had broken them up; she had something more trivial in mind, like cheating while drunk at a party. Normal stuff which happened to people their age on a daily basis. 

"We were not that serious. He asked me to accompany him to one of those socialite events in London, and his family attended as well, and they insisted on having me for dinner, which I accepted, and they basically put through the worst ordeal ever and he didn't do anything to defend me." 

"I see." Anne wants to know more, but she can see Mary doesn't want to talk about this right now: instead she is focused on her phone screen, and the weariness in her voice indicates she has not gotten over the whole affair yet. She needs time; eventually Anne will get the full story out of her. "So, tell me about Greece then! Where did you go to?" 

Now her sister's face is lighting up with a smile, and God bless this change of conversation. "Well, I stayed in Santorini, which is the prettiest place on Earth and magically not so crowded at this time of year. The weather was fabulous, barely any grey clouds in sight, and the food was exquisite... And I might have met someone," she giggles. 

"Mary!"

"What? It's called a 'rebound' Anne, even you should know that! And if you had seen his eyes, even you would have crawled into bed with him..." The youngest rolls her eyes as her sister is laughing. 

"Yes, I know what a rebound is. I'm a virgin, not a total prude..." 

"Isn't it the same thing?" 

"Fuck off, Mary!" She kicks her sister's seat as the eldest shrieks in amusement, kicking back until they're both laughing at their silliness. 

"Anyway, you did meet Henry, didn't you? What did he do? Tell me!" 

Now, Anne knows her sister: she wants to know whether he is grovelling in his mediocrity, whether he is crying after her, because usually she is the one doing the dumping, not the other way round. 

"Well, he did cry under our window for a good part of the night, and he was definitely feeling sorry about what he did, or at least, that's what it seemed. He looked like he really wanted to talk to you, and he would not go away even when I told him you were not there. So he stayed with the for the rest of the night as I was writing my essay..." 

"What did he do?" 

"Nothing. He just sat on my bed in silence until I kicked him out around 5am..." Anne shrugs. Mary chuckles. 

"Honestly, that sounds just like him... He is very charming, isn't he?" 

Anne is taken aback by the question, blushes slightly. "Yeah, he totally is, that bastard. You look at him and you think 'Oh, he looks nice and sweet' and then he actually lets his whole family step all over you without lifting a finger," her sister goes on before she can speak. 

"Well, he did sound apologetic about whatever it was he did to you," she points out, since he had mentioned multiple times that his behaviour had not been spotless. 

"I bloody hope he is! Doesn't mean I'm going to forgive him any time soon though." 

Anne thinks, now is not the time to mention he actually took me out on a date to a museum, because Mary would either be very upset, or she would mock her sister for being naive and complying too easily, and she cannot take either for the time being: an upset Mary is impossible to live with, and to be told she was too soft on him sounds slightly unfair in her head. 

And after all, Mary's the one who did omit to mention her very own existence. She, too, can have secrets of her own. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much awaited update! Sorry you all for the wait, I started my summer student job then went on holidays which has left me drained and frankly without any motivation to write, but here I am again! 
> 
> We learn a little bit more about what happened between Henry and Mary, and we get an insight into Mary's POV and her relationship with Anne. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed, and I promise the next update will be much quicker than this one, and with more things happening (hopefully!)


End file.
